Raining Bloody Blossoms
by Amber Iris
Summary: The trees let down their flowers, fragile memories on the breeze.


**Disclaimer: _Naruto_ is not mine. If it was, I'm pretty sure Haku would be a girl.**

Her name meant "little south". Konan. A fitting name for a small, washed out girl representing dull blue and purple hues from the village of eternal rain. Amegakure. Where the sound of rain pounding the concrete and thundering gray skies greeted people every morning. She wished the rain would stop. It served as a symbol of washing away hope.

However, the downpour, she hoped, would wash out the bloodshed in her country. It rained blood as well as water. She wished she could do something to end the unstoppable rain as well as the never ceasing storm of blood and violence. Her country lacked peace and hope.

All she could do was fold delicate paper flowers and float them down the rivers in the streets that formed from the beating rain. And everyday, she would see some float back to the hands of the creator. Splattered with blood.

To her, they were symbols of kindness, but pain as well. So she would weave kindness from her hands, hidden in a dark corner in the dark world. But it was home, and she vowed to never run away from her house in the corner.

One day, her parents were gone in a flash of metal, two painfully drawn out screams, and splatters of blood that landed on her tiny hands, innocent with no knowledge of war. And with wide amber eyes, she stared at the attackers' backs, retreating in the storm.

So she took her many of her belongings along with a makeshift helmet. She turned her heel and ran off blindly and vulnerably into the lashes of the rain. She didn't look back.

His name meant "growing boy". Yahiko. A fitting name for a boy representing browns and oranges who quickly learned about the harshness and pain the world had to offer. He was from the village of the infinite rain. Amegakure. Where the sound of pattering rain and gloomy clouds greeted him with frowns every morning. He wished the rain would cease. It served as a symbol of washing away happiness. He had never known it.

He did wish that the rain would cleanse the now stained glass of Ame. Blood was as plentiful as rain in Ame. He had a dream of ending the rain and the blood so that Ame could start anew, as a beacon of hope for other countries to follow. That a small village could rise to be a symbolic light to shine the path for the Five Great Shinobi Nations. The rain was a larger representation of their tears.

He could do nothing. Even as a growing boy. He could just watch the sky throwing down bullets of rain, hoping that the defenseless village could dodge. But it couldn't. The sky couldn't stop, and the village didn't have a shield. They took the beating that the sky unwillingly gave.

However, his radiant smile haunted everyone. It was contagious. He smiled because he thought it was a symbol of strength, to show that a little boy who seemed to know nothing of war could withstand the escalating tragedy in his poor country.

But Ame was home. And he would not run away from the house that needed him as a burning fire.

Until the only people who needed him, his parents, died in an instant of bloodshed and gory screams. And the growing boy turned his back on the only home he knew and swore to never smile again. The flame was extinguished. Only ashes were left in his wake. Fiery embers like his bright hair followed him.

His name meant long-lasting gate. Nagato. A fitting name for a boy representing dark red whose will was stronger than his spindly body. He was from the village of endless rain. Amegakure. Where drizzles escalated into full on rainstorms without a notice and thunder shook the ground. He wished that the rain would stop. It served as a symbol of the washing away of love.

He had known love. And he was now failing to see it clearly, now a blurry vision across the horizon. So, because of the fading away of love, he wished the rain would end. The rain mixed in with blood and tears to create a gruesome downpour of pain, hatred, and sorrow. But, the rain would erode at the blood and scrub it away, leaving a cleaner Ame. Cleaner and filled with lots of love. So their village could be family.

He believed that he could do nothing. That sheer will could not beat sheer strength, and no matter how determined he was, his fragile body would not cooperate with his steel will. He just listened to the rain meeting the concrete, kissing it with a brutal force. And with every raindrop, there would be another drop of blood.

However, his dream to change Amegakure enough was enough to keep him going, enough to keep some of the village going. He thought his strong will was a symbol of connection. His dreams united the village, and it united himself as well, his different opposing thoughts.

And he would stay until he could change Ame for good. He would not leave his house, much less his village. Because the village was the embodiment of his dream.

But, people from that never ending war came and killed his parents before realizing in shock later that they were innocent civilians. And the frail little boy used his unusual purple eyes unknowingly for the first time. When he returned to consciousness, they were dead. So he, as well, ran away. He did not take anything in his haste except his first great pain and his tears.

Yahiko, the growing boy found Konan, little south. Uniting in mind about their dreams, they vowed to stay by each other and fend for each other until the war ended. That promise was a much stronger thing than either would imagine. It dug deeper into them than they thought was possible. Either an enlightening message or a never fading scar. Or both.

For they had both made their first ever friend.

Nagato, the long-lasting gate, could not last long by himself. He had found his own very first friend in a starving dog. With his protuberant purple eyes, he could see himself in that little dog, face drawn and pinched in exhaustion. The boy's fearsome purple eyes softened at the poor canine, whining in the pouring rain.

Sacrificing all of the small amount of food he had, the frail boy smiled at the equally frail dog in sympathy. The dog sniffed at it hesitatingly, then slobbering over the meager amount of food in joy. Nagato let out the first laugh he ever had in a long time. It rang out clearly and it sounded warm, like his parents' arms. The dog bounded into his arms, barking with an exuberance the little boy did not know.

He named the dog Chibi.

Even the long-lasting gate couldn't last long without proper food or water. In sheer exhaustion, the poor boy fell prone to the ground, equally vulnerable to the bullets of rain as the ground. Shivering, he dipped out of consciousness. The darkness embraced his fragile body.

Until a warm hand brought him back to life. Her name was Konan. Her appearance brought hope to him. Like an angel.

With her assistance, he hobbled to what seemed to be a hideout.

She said his name was Yahiko. The boy with a shock of orange hair and twinkling brown eyes seemed to scrutinize him. Nagato crouched self-consciously in the corner, eying his surroundings with suspicion while delighting at the warmth of the shelter.

Konan convinced Yahiko to let Nagato stay. She reasoned that he was another war orphan, and he needn't be alone. Yahiko grumbled something about having another mouth to feed, but shot an infectious but genuine smile in his direction, waving him over to eat.

Nagato smiled for the first time in a long time as well. Konan and Yahiko smiled along with him as well. Nagato decided he liked it when all three smiled. It was a new beginning.

They had all made their second ever friends.

Yahiko noticed Nagato's horror and shock when he told them it was time to steal for food. He frowned, his smile disappearing. He and Konan both felt the same way before accepting the fact that they would have to do unethical things to survive.

Chibi was a fairly good thief. Nagato found himself to be not too shabby either. Konan was up as a distraction.

Yahiko was a natural.

And when they bolted back to the hideout with hands full of food and angry shopkeepers at their heels, they had never known another time when they had laughed so hard. It felt so good.

The war was too long. The skies continued to pour both rain and blood. The three war orphans could only shelter themselves with each other. For Konan, there was no hope. For Yahiko, there was no happiness, and for Nagato, there was no love.

They only saw a wide expanse of hopelessness, unhappiness, and hatred.

They had to leave their hideout for safety reasons. After coming too close to an enemy explosion, Yahiko called them all together and, without thinking, they left all their food and many supplies behind.

They also left behind Chibi's corpse.

Yahiko said he heard of some shinobi from the neighboring Konoha. He said they were fighting to keep peace and happiness anywhere because there was too much bloodshed.

Nagato saw a team of three shinobi from that place people called Konoha. They had given them food in pity. Konan had made an elaborate origami flower in her gratitude. One was a young man with long black hair framing a pale face. Purple outlined his fierce yellow eyes, and earrings resembling odd symbols hung from his ears. On his left was a fair woman with blond hair knotted seemingly quickly to make two loose ponytails. A purple rhombus adorned her forehead. Underneath were two chestnut eyes roving the area.

The one that caught their attention, however, was the last member. He was a tall man, spiky white hair in a ponytail. Red lines ran from the bottom lids of his onyx eyes to the middle of his cheeks. His smile resembled Yahiko's.

They chose to trust him. And he chose to trust them as well.

He was Jiraiya, one of the legendary Sannin of Konoha. But to them, he wasn't a legendary ninja.

He was their new sensei. Their new source of hope, their new source of happiness, and their new source of love.

The first few days, Jiraiya-sensei just remained with them. He just ate with them. And for those first few days, that was enough. He brought with him an endless stream of stories, jokes, and fun times.

They laughed and talked more than they thought they ever would.

The enemy ninja attacked one day. Nagato could not see anything else except Yahiko. The need to save his friend overpowered him. His love for his friends overcame his common sense. His heart conquered his brain.

He saved them all by killing the enemy. Nagato the saviour, with his odd purple eyes.

Jiraiya-sensei decided to teach them ninjutsu after a battle with himself. So they could protect themselves and each other. So they could watch each other's backs. And no harm should come their way when they had each other.

Yahiko was ecstatic. He now had a higher chance of protecting Ame and bringing peace with the aid of a shinobi's skills in his back pocket. He vowed to protect Konan, Nagato, and his village. He vowed to bring joy and happiness where sorrow over- dominated the heavens, and the rain was the sign of their tears.

Konan vowed to bring hope and peace to the village where pessimism came down with the rain and the blood.

Nagato vowed to bring love to the village where hate ruled it like a hated king. And together, they would build Ame back up from scratch.

However much they loved Jiraiya-sensei, his frog ways annoyed them all, Yahiko especially. Even their defence system was frog-themed. Jiraiya-sensei argued that was because he was the Toad Sage. Konan and Nagato had just rolled their eyes. Underneath the puffy frog suit, Yahiko scowled. He danced in the rain, imitating their sensei with a foolish air. Konan let out a loud giggle. Yahiko smiled a lopsided grin at her.

They all loved training with him, however. Each day they would get stronger. Stronger than yesterday, the remnants of the past. Where the ruined Ame should be. And with every new technique perfected, with each new tactic learned, they were advancing on the path they had always wanted to take.

Yahiko was oblivious to the shy looks Konan would covertly shoot at him, her occasional blushes. She herself was oblivious to the glances Yahiko not-so-secretly stole, his flickering eyes like smoldering fire.

Only Nagato saw and knew. And he smiled to himself. And he thought that, at least, in this world that is getting smaller and more miserable, there was a spark of love that kept them all going.

They were a family. But, as Nagato thought, all families needed to break apart. They all had to grow up and leave home. And their father figure, Jiraiya-sensei, said some parting words, left them with a haunting smile they would always remember, and a presence that would be etched in their hearts forever.

They felt like they were back in the beginning, with no hope or happiness or love. Yet they all put one foot in front of the other and kept trudging their way to the light at the end of the tunnel.

And they all made it out and saw the sun.

They were powerful enough, strong enough, they thought, to make a difference, an impact on the world. An unerasable path like the one their master left behind on their hearts.

And it was Yahiko, whose contagious smile kept them all alive and whose leadership helped them survive, who welcomed a new dawn. The Akatsuki. And they would bring peace to Ame. Hope, joy, and love. To uplift the tempest and create a rainbow.

Hanzo of the Salamander saw them as a threat. Just a small peace organization was a threat to him. They didn't know he thought that way. They thought he was looking for a negotiation.

Uchiha Madara was there as well.

It was a trap, they realized too late. A trap to kill the three ninja originally behind the Akatsuki. The three orphans that came so far from their meager beginnings. They had tied up Konan as bait.

Nagato's choice was to either kill Yahiko or have Konan die.

His purple eyes pulsed with suppressed rage, confusion etched across his face with an almost unnoticeable flicker of fear. Konan had almost screamed her lungs out to sacrifice her and get out alive. Nagato stood rigid, statuelike and unwavering. The kunai in his hand was trembling, the metal biting into the palm of his hand.

Yahiko couldn't think. Nagato couldn't think. Konan couldn't think.

But only Yahiko moved through that tar-like mental instability that was bewilderment and hidden anger.

And through all that haziness that was confusion, Konan almost died, ropes cutting into her arms like fangs.

And Yahiko lost his life. He impaled himself onto the outstretched kunai in Nagato's shaking hand. The same boy whose orange hair and twinkling eyes was the light in the dark. The unnamed leader of the orphans. Their family.

His last words told Nagato to keep living with Konan, they had to survive, he whispered, no matter what. The light was leaving his eyes. They thought the light was inextinguishable. But, like the fire, everything was to be burned to ashes. Yahiko was losing himself in the dominating shadows. His last thoughts were his smile. It was not strength, he thought through the enclosing darkness. It was joy.

Nagato lost his heart after that.

Konan lost her jewel in life, the sparkle in the coal.

And they had lost all hope, happiness, and love.

They never exactly made it out of the second tunnel without Yahiko.

Nagato was different, Konan thought. He was so hatred-driven, using a hatred powered way to gain peace. His purple eyes were not a source of comfort anymore; storms raged inside them.

And she was different too, she thought. They both were.

They had given up hope, joy, and love. All that remained were shells of their past selves, phantoms among the living.

She had to bite her lip to stop the blood-curdling scream that could have left her when she saw Yahiko again. It was Nagato's, Pein he now was, Deva Path through the Six Paths, she knew, but he looked so real.

When he opened his eyes, she didn't see the twinkling brown. Just a wide expanse of purple ripples. His lips were permanently set in a frown, so different from his haunting smile.

The only sound that left her was his name, fluttering off her lips like a wind borne petal on the breeze.

The Akatsuki, however, did not become greater as time passed, as they had wished. It had dwindled to a poor imitation of its past self, using power to gain peace. A hideout for international criminals. Konan hated it.

More and more people joined their ranks. Sasori, a quiet man living in a puppet shell of his past. Hidan, a foul mouthed immortal with an infatuation with his religion. Kakuzu, a bloodthirsty man with five hearts. Orochimaru, that same man they saw with Jiraiya-sensei all those years ago. Deidara, a loud mouthed blonde youth with a fascination with explosives. Kisame, a shark like humanoid with a love for battle. Tobi, who turned out to be Uchiha Madara. He was there with Hanzo. Zetsu, an artificial human like an aloe vera plant. And Uchiha Itachi, a quiet and stoic boy from Konoha, where Jiraiya-sensei came from.

And he always seemed different. Like he didn't really want to be there either. Like he had lost all hope, joy, and love too.

Years later, they found their master in Ame. He was different too. Older and wiser, and seen more bloodshed and felt more sorrow. His eyes flashed when he saw them. The same eyes that bore the same distinct red markings, however, they were not smiling eyes. The smile crinkles disappeared, and a hatred filled gaze greeted them.

Their hearts torn in two like millions of shards of broken glass.

He told her she was beautiful like he predicted all those years ago, and she could only barely hide her crestfallen glance. She never fulfilled her promise of seeing him when she was eighteen.

And through the blur of memories and battle, their sensei's blood was shed. The worst blood they shed since Yahiko. And he was so broken at Pein's feet. Rods towered over his fallen form, shadowing his now bloodied face.

Their tunnel grew longer. The light was fading. And they had killed the person they loved most after Yahiko.

The sky almost fell. It was all dark.

There was one left of the Jinchuuriki. The Kyuubi. The Nine-Tails in Konoha. Where their sensei lived. They shuddered. But he was the last. They were going to finish what Yahiko started, no matter how low they sunk.

Through all the blood that was rained down into the almost unstained streets of Konoha, the Kyuubi's container returned. Uzumaki Naruto.

They had all figured it out. It was Nagato controlling six bodies as his puppets. And the Jinchuuriki himself confronted Nagato, the same boy whose will was stronger than his heart. His past self was a ghost, just a wisp. But even so, he could so his reflection mirrored in the face of the Jinchuuriki. He could see Yahiko's will shimmering in the tilting mouth.

The loud mouthed blonde boy was a student of Jiraiya-sensei too. They could see Jiraiya's will reflected in his protuberant blue eyes.

His words were just as strong, if not stronger, than Nagato's will had been. His words changed them, they cut deeper than anything. And their message was etched across their hearts like their sensei's path. He was the legacy Jiraiya-sensei left. He real child of the prophecy who would change the shinobi world.

He changed them, he did. Nagato, compelled to do one thing right, entrusted his will to the real child of the prophecy, the final volume. That will that was not just a symbol of unity, but of love. And Nagato gave up his life to save his master's home.

Konan changed too. She was the only one left. She didn't dare weep. Ame would weep for her. The home she left behind.

God's angel had become the leader of Ame. The constant downpour thundered around her, slapping the ground in an uneven rhythm. Rain was only a part of her nostalgia now, not a symbol of hopelessness.

For the first time, she smiled at the rain. It was part of her home. The pitter-patter of raindrops consoled her. She lifted her head up and greeted the rain with a smile of a broken woman.

Madara had come to Ame in his greed, seeking the Rinnegan. She would defend her friend and the gem of the village. The savior's odd purple eyes that almost ended but patched up the world.

She greeted him at the lake, its water level consistently rising because of the eternal rain. His orange mask shone out starkly against the dull landscape of her village. She wanted to see his face, to actually know the identity of her opponent.

She had been waiting for her chance to destroy him.

He had wondered why she had broken apart from the Akatsuki. However much she regretted that she failed what she started, a blonde haired boy's smiling face swam into view.

She responded with a flurry of Paper Shuriken, which passed harmlessly through his untouchable body. Still undeterred, she wrapped both of them with explosive notes, intending to destroy them both.

He had saved them both at the cost of his right arm and part of his mask. He was impressed by her determination.

Konan chided the masked man about Nagato's eyes being the village's pearl, the clouds on their cloaks representing the never ending torrent of blood in their world. He lived in a world of darkness, where flowers lay to wilt and die.

Naruto carried the never dying flowers of hope, she said.

And he was the wall of darkness that crushed them all.

He had underestimated her. The one who always stayed quiet, showed sympathy or remorse for what she had done. The soft-spoken woman was a fierce warrior. A remnant of the long-lasting gate, which blossomed into a flower after many years, like that growing boy.

She had divided the lake comprised of six billion explosive notes, in which Tobi fell hopelessly into.

Exhausted she collapsed, believing the battle to be won.

The flowers at Nagato and Yahiko's shrine fell apart.

The warrior, however, would always fall valiantly in battle. She did too, the beautiful paper angel. The pipe stabbed through her now fragile body.

Ame stopped crying. A symbol of Nagato and Yahiko's will. She would support that bridge as a pillar. The light in her own tunnel.

But the mantle of darkness crushed the light. Her throat collapsing, Konan lay motionless on the stilling water, the life fading from her amber eyes.

And so the petals of the flower that was a woman wilted and floated away on the lake.

Like the paper flowers she made. A symbol of hope and kindness. She knew, in her last moments, that she was the source of hope for her village. The rainbow after the tempest.

And Ame wept for the broken woman. But it wept for the growing boy and the long-lasting gate as well.

Ame wept for eternity.

A blood-soaked paper fluttered through the billowing wind, whisking itself away to a rundown shelter over-dominated by vines and thorns. Through the vines, three blocks of red wood lifted their faces to the sunny sky.

The paper found its resting place on top of the white surface on another slab of wood.

They were all together now, like they promised. They made it out of the last tunnel beneath the ground, the last barrier, under the shelter. The same tunnel leading to their hideout.

And after being lost for so many years, the three children and their master returned home. A home filled with hope, joy, and love. A home they promised they would keep. And their promises were there too.

The trees outside let down their flowers, floating away like papers, paper memories, fragile in the breeze.


End file.
